


The detectives of the Sunbeam Ruins

by forget_me_nots



Series: Flight Rising AU [1]
Category: Flight Rising, 文豪ストレイドッグス | Bungou Stray Dogs
Genre: (only in the second chapter), Alternate Universe - Dragons, Angst, Blood and Gore, Dragons, Gen, Shapeshifting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-10
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2020-12-07 19:27:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 8,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20981141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forget_me_nots/pseuds/forget_me_nots
Summary: Listen, if you know me at all, then you know that this was inevitable. Just short little pieces of a Flight Rising AU for bungo stray dogs. There's no overall plot, just tiny scenes.





	1. It doesn't have to be special

**Author's Note:**

> quick notes for the absolute slapdash worldbuilding I did to the addition of FR's actual lore:  
Because i don't want to deal with the wide range of sizes that FR dragons have, they can all like, basically turn into a more anthropomorphic version of dragons, which is referred to as "twos" here, and the actual dragon form is "fours". Don't question it i came up with this at like, midnight. A lot of these i wrote at similar hours.  
I may like, write out explanations as to why i picked each type of dragon for each character at some point, but not right now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   


The first time Atsushi took fours without the intent of tearing Akutagawa limb from limb, the first time Akutagawa actually took the time to take in the true form of his… whatever Atsushi was to him, it was a dreary, grey day.

Akutagawa thought it should have been special. Like the clouds should have parted when Atsushi ducked his head shyly, choppy mane falling in front of his eyes, and stretched out in the confines of the small room, nearly taking up all the space with badly-cut fur and claws as long as Akutagawa’s forearms. His horns brushed the ceiling, and his tail coiled around almost the whole perimeter of the room. Akutagawa should have felt trapped, surrounded, but instead, he leaned back against Atsushi’s side, and let the Gaoler stretch a wing over him. It was small, compared to the size of his body, but still was large enough to cover Akutagawa.

“And you?” Atsushi said, his voice rumbling against Akutagawa’s back.

“I’m already in fours,” he said, carefully digging his fingers into Atsushi’s fur. It was so soft. His soft undercoat was still mostly exposed, as whoever had cut his fur hadn't done it properly, mostly cutting away the guardhairs.

“What?”

Atsushi nearly forgot they were in a room more suited for a Fae than a Gaoler, and bumped his horns against the ceiling hard enough to nearly puncture them through. 

“There’s no point in taking twos when you’re this small. I just… stand up,” Akutagawa explained.

Atsushi made a surprised noise, something like a laugh. His tail coiled closer, draping over Akutagawa’s lap, heavy and warm.

“That’s why your wings are so big. And always out. I thought it was just because you were rude. Or in the mafia.”

“I am rude.”

“No, just small.”


	2. all my troubles on a burning pile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> gore warning for this one
> 
> Dazai leaves the Port Mafia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> quick notes on Imperials: Because they were the first creation of the Lightweaver, when they die, if there are more than one dead imperial in the same place, they have a tendency to fuse and reanimate as these multi-headed monsters known as emperors, which can be powerful enough to require the gods to kill again.
> 
> I almost made Oda an imperial just for the angst of it, but Guardian works better for him.

Dazai tore the bandages from his arms first, sank his claws into the dark jacket and tore at it while flexing his wings until the bandages under the cotton of his collared shirt, and his jacket gave, tearing open with a hideous noise. The shreds of fabric fell in scraps around him, along with quite a few downy feathers. The remaining bandages on his torso he yanked off as his chest began to heave. His head spun, and he fell forwards, tail lashing. The button and belt to his pants were suddenly too complicated, and he wanted everything _off_. Uncaring, he took fours, feeling the fabric tear away. The blood on his claws remained.

_The blood on his claws remained._

Shaking himself bodily, he threw back his head and let out a scream like his heart was being torn from his chest, the sound shrill and wrenching and terrible, even in his own ears. Someone surely would hear it, but he didn’t care. Nobody would notice a Skydancer in fours, colors obscured by the night, screaming mad and half-feral. Even the other mafia members would just suspect him some raving drunk, cheated or beaten. He pounded his claws on the unforgiving stone, wishing he could roar and howl like a Mirror, or a Wildclaw, or a _Guardian_, and suddenly his screams turned to huge, body-shaking sobs. 

He scraped the remains of his clothing into a pile, picked up every last thread, and bundled them into the coat Mori had given him. As he did so, he composed himself, choked his sobs into shuddering breaths, and walked over to where Oda lay.

The great Guardian rested on his back in the darkness, eyes closed. He could have been sleeping if not for the heavy stench of blood in the air, and the dark stain on his stomach. He was still in twos, and would remain so forevermore. Dazai lowered himself until he could press the side of his face against Oda in one final farewell. His _friend_. Bargained away by Mori’s scheming. 

Gide lay dead on the other side of the room, and Dazai stood stiffly and approached the dead Imperial.

Like Oda, Gide also looked peaceful in death, eyes closed serenely, and his long white mane fanned out behind his head.

Dazai stomped one foot onto Guide’s chest, and tore the Imperial’s head from his body. He was so freshly dead, the blood was still warm. 

Dazai bundled Gide’s head in his coat as well, and took off. Flying was a rare delight that was always soothing, but instead Dazai just felt… empty and distant in a way that he hadn’t felt in a very long time.

But Oda had told him to live, so he would.

He returned to his apartment, leaving the macabre bundle of Gide’s head on his kitchen counter. In a haze, he shrunk back down to take twos, washed his hands, sat naked at his table, staring at the lumpy bundle that was slowly oozing blood onto his nice marble counters, threw up in the sink, washed his hands again, threw every shirt Mori had given him into a pile, dumped all the wine he knew Chuuya had hidden behind the couch out the window into the lovely garden below, washed his hands again, gathered up the few remaining shirts that were his own, and his favorite pants, packed them carefully in a bag, along with some important documents and treasure, stared at the empty wine bottles under the windowsill, washed his hands again, threw all of his unpacked clothes into the fireplace, along with a bottle of whiskey for good measure, and lit it all on fire. And then turned his attention back to Gide’s head.

Mori would be asleep now. 

Dazai had half a mind to go to the morgue, find another Imperial’s body, and drop Gide’s head on it, just as a little parting gift to the Mafia. One final fuck you.

But he didn’t want Gide to live again, even as a resurrected abomination. 

Dazai took fours again, grabbed what little belongings he wanted to bring with him, and then the bundle of Gide’s head in his coat. He flew all the way up to Mori’s office, snuck in, and unwrapped his coat on Mori’s beautiful hardwood desk. A few scraps of bandage and cloth, sticky with blood, clung to Gide’s face. Dazai carefully picked them off, and arranged the Imperial’s head so it faced the door.

“I could have left you an Emperor,” Dazai said to the empty chair behind the desk. “Be glad I didn’t.”

Mori didn’t have to be here to hear what Dazai said. Gide’s head would say it for him.


	3. Gaolers and Guardians

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kunikida is an idealist no matter what AU he's in, and he finds the structure of Gaoler society very interesting. Atsushi grew up without that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IDK i had the funky lil idea that the anthro dragons would cover up their wings/keep them hidden. It'll probably appear a few more times in these shorts. I really don't know how to explain my thought process for this, it just happened.

Gaolers and Guardians held similar values. Kunikida had studied the social structure and traditions of Gaolers as a hatchling, enamored with the idea of the five Orders of the Gaolers. 

Atsushi was nothing like anything he’d researched. When he’d seen the scraggly looking Gaoler, fur wet from hauling Dazai out of the river, he’d nearly mistaken the young Gaoler for a Tundra with a bad haircut and particularly large horns. In twos, it was hard to tell, especially in polite society, where hiding wings was the norm. Gaolers had wings useless for flight, unlike their cousins, the Tundras. 

The young Gaoler approached Kunikida and asked about the five Orders, evidently because Kenji had mentioned that Kunikida had once studied them.

Kunikida was at a loss. How could he teach Atsushi about something that should have been taught to him by his own family, his own clan? 

But the more he stared, somewhat stunned, at Atsushi, who began to fidget nervously, the more he wanted desperately to take the young Gaoler under his wing, social norms be damned. Instead, he sighed, and reached out to pat Atsushi on the head.

“Yes, I did study the five Orders when I was a hatchling. I admire the Gaolers and their resolve to rid the world of the shade very much. I still have quite a few books about the Orders, as well as Gaolers in general, if you would like to borrow them,” he said. 

Atsushi’s face lit up.

“Really? Thank you so much! I- I-”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll bring in a few tomorrow.”

It wouldn’t be the same, but he hoped that it would at least help Atsushi find what he was looking for.


	4. The Lights Are On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Atsushi and Dazai both accidentally grabbed the wrong paperwork.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stressed parrots pull out their own feathers, did you know?

“Dazai?” Atsushi called out, knocking on the door again.

Like before, there was no answer, and he glanced over at Kyouka, who shrugged.

“Maybe he isn’t home.”

Atsushi tested the doorknob, and it turned slowly. 

“We really shouldn’t,” Atsushi said, releasing it. “I’ll just come back later.”

Kyouka’s dark gaze pinned him in place, though, and he sighed, and opened the door slowly. Just in case. He knew Dazai’s door creaked when it opened, but Atsushi was very good at being quiet if he needed to be. All they needed to do was switch out one of the scrolls Dazai had for a different one. Dazai had grabbed the wrong one earlier, taking the one Atsushi needed, and leaving his own behind. 

Still not entirely trusting that Dazai wasn’t home, Atsushi slipped through the half-open door, and shook his head at Kyouka when she looked like she was about to follow him. He tiptoed down the short hall that made the entryway, and paused in the doorway to the livingroom and kitchen, which was one large room. There was a low, tuneless hum that filled the room, but Atsushi ignored it as he made his way over to the low table, where the scroll lay beside an assortment of empty cups. Atsushi sniffed at them before picking up the scroll, and setting down the one he’d brought. He turned to leave, but curiosity overcame him. He’d been in the main room of Dazai’s apartment before, but had never seen any of the other rooms.

He crept through the doorway on the other side of the livingroom, and the humming grew louder. 

Atsushi peered through one of the open doors, before jerking back just as fast.

Dazai lay on his back, legs extended up towards the ceiling of his room, his bandages carelessly unravelling, shirt open, wings spread wide against the ground. He looked like he was falling, and his eyes, lightless and empty, stared into nothing as he hummed and kicked his legs. One clawed hand mindlessly plucked downy brown feathers from his chest, thin fingers reaching between his bandages. He didn’t even flinch. 

He was decent, it wasn’t like Atsushi had walked in on anything _bad_, but he still felt as if he’d seen something private, something nobody was supposed to see.   
As fast as he dared, Atsushi left, and composed himself so Kyouka didn’t worry. He grinned and held up the scroll he’d retrieved.

“Was Dazai home?” she asked worriedly.

Atsushi hesitated a moment.

“No, I don’t think he was.”


	5. Souls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pearlcatchers cary a physical manifestation of their soul, and add their memories to it over the course of their lives.

Oda held Ango’s pearl carefully, the physical representation of his friend’s soul felt heavy in his paw, smooth and perfectly round. He wasn’t surprised at how perfectly spherical it was. No doubt Ango labored each night in keeping each addition even so that it remained perfect. 

He lowered his head down slowly, and lifted his wing. It had grown quiet, Dazai's slurred accusations having drawn to a close a few minutes ago, so it seemed safe to do so now. Most nights, Dazai simply grew quiet and subdued when drunk, but occasionally, instead of retreating into himself, he'd open up, which usually lead to him attempting to harm himself.

“He’s asleep,” Ango said softly, nodding slightly at Dazai, who lay sprawled against Oda’s belly, clutching onto Ango for dear life. Ango looked ruffled, his dark mane messy, and glasses slightly askew. Oda had offered to be the one to hold Dazai down. It would have been easy for him, and he was used to it, placing a paw on the young Skydancer's bandaged chest while he alternated between trying to sweet talk Oda into releasing him and cursing until his voice became as harsh and rasping as a raven's caw. In sleep, Dazai looked his age: a gawky teenager. The bandaged side of his face rested on Ango’s wings. He might have passed for an ordinary dragon. Nobody would have guessed he was one of the higher-ranking members of the mafia. 

“Do you want this back?” Oda asked, carefully offering Ango his pearl.

Ango accepted the pearl back, and sighed.

The pearl had been the catayst of tonight's outburst.

Dazai had marveled at the perfection of Ango's pearl in much the way Oda had, holding it in two hands, fingers splayed wide. "Imagine being a Pearlcatcher," he'd said, then had thrown back his head to laugh. "What would my soul look like? I'd hatch, eat my eggshell, and then vomit darkness and never stop."

Ango had tried to take his pearl back, fearing where the conversation was headed, and Dazai had hugged it to his chest for a moment. He'd given pearl back, then stated that a soulless being like himself would be a poor Pearlcatcher indeed.

“We really shouldn’t let him drink so much.”

“Better he gets drunk around us than by himself,” Oda said, curling closer around the two smaller dragons. “It’s safer this way.”

Ango snorted, and ran a finger absently over the glossy surface of his pearl.

“What, is he one of your Charges?” Ango asked.

“If he is, then you are as well,” Oda said, and Ango lifted his head to stare, wide-eyed, before smiling sadly.

“You’re just saying that.”


	6. Gentleman Mirror

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chuuya stands out, but he's got thick skin.

As he licked the remains of his meal off his teeth, Chuuya could feel the eyes of the other dragons around him. Had he been younger, he would have snarled and fanned his wings at them, really give them something to stare at.

But he was a refined dragon.

So he just carefully wiped around his mouth with his napkin, clearing away the remaining bloodstains, because even all the refinery of the city couldn’t get rid of his taste for fresh meat, and raised a gloved claw for the bill. He paid with the golden octagonal coins that were common in the sunbeam ruins, and gave his compliments to the chef, as he always did when they served his meal rare enough to be nearly raw. 

He carefully replaced his hat, and departed. 

The port’s one and only gentleman Mirror. Mafia executive, half of the former power that was Double Black, once King of the Sheep. Even those who didn’t know his mafia connections could tell he was a powerful dragon, not one to be crossed. Let the gossip-mongering Pearlcatchers whisper to each other behind his back, he was above them. 

Koyou reclined in fours on one of the larger couches in her sitting room, her painted claws running reverently over her pearl. 

“How was your dinner?” she asked lifting her head.

Her mane, a lovely pinkish red, was loose, and it was long enough to nearly brush the cushions of the couch. She was the picture of the beauty standards held by Pearlcatchers. Unlike most of the Pearlcatchers in the mafia, she had not cut her whiskers, and they lifted slightly towards Chuuya as he approached. He shed his coat and jacket as he did so, in preparation of his change. 

“Same as usual,” he grunted, loosening his choker, and spreading his tiny wings as far as they went. Like a good gentleman, he kept them hidden under his coat and jacket while in twos, but all his shirts and vests had wingslits. 

Ever courteous, Koyou turned her head towards the window as Chuuya huffed and yanked down his pants. There was no need, but she always did, and never watched as Chuuya arched his back, and assumed his true form in fours. 

“You know, they wouldn’t stare so much if you used your claws like everyone else,” Koyou said, turning back as Chuuya gathered his now too-small clothes with one claw, and draped them over the arm of the other large couch, before hopping up. He stretched, his back cracking as he adjusted to the larger form. He turned in a circle, like a cat, before settling and coiling his long tail over his claws.

“They’d stare at me whatever I did. I’m a lone Mirror in a Lightlands city.”


	7. No Different

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dazai and Chuuya snipping at each other is one of my fav things, but i do think they care. Just a little bit.

Chuuya had grown used to the ever-changing assortment of injuries Dazai sported, and his mercurial moods.

But there was something decidedly off about him today, more than usual. Usually, no matter how sullen, he’d usually find some little thing to pick at Chuuya for. The usual easy game of his height, or his hat. Not today. 

Chuuya enjoyed the respite until Dazai fell down the stairs, for once not on purpose. The two had been walking, and Dazai’s feathers had suddenly all flattened against his body in shock, and his left leg gave under his own weight. Chuuya had reacted instantly, trying to grab him by the back of the coat, but missed, and Dazai had tumbled down to the landing, where he lay in a gawky tangle of limbs, not even with enough energy to groan. Chuuya thought, for just one horrifying moment, that his partner had broken his neck.

But his one visible eye, dull and brown, stared up at Chuuya, blinking open when he scrambled down the stairs after Dazai.

“Are- are you alright?” Chuuya asked, and Dazai slowly sat up, stiff and clearly in pain. 

“Peachy,” he said, and tried to haul himself to his feet when his left leg gave out again, sending him back to the floor with a thump.

“What happened to you?”

Chuuya grabbed Dazai under the arm and hauled him upright, not caring if it hurt the Skydancer’s pride. He was already injured, and Chuuya, for all his hatred of Dazai, didn’t want to see him hurt himself more. 

“I fell, did Chuuya not see?” Dazai said acidicly.

“Oh, I saw alright, I saw your leg give out. What happened?” Chuuya snapped back.

“What always happens. Why should now be any different?” He shoved away from Chuuya and leaned against the wall, reaching under his coat to dig his knuckles into his lower back, just to the left above his tail, wincing.

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe because you nearly broke your neck falling down the stairs on accident.”

Dazai’s one eye flashed.

“I wish I had, because then I wouldn’t have to deal with… with you.”

Chuuya snarled.

“Sorry for trying to care about my partner.”

Dazai huffed and rolled his eye dramatically, before shifting some weight to his clearly injured left leg, and limped off, leaving Chuuya to stare after him.


	8. Mimic's Seer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gide receives his ability

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The presence of the Tidelord DOES put this before Bounty of the Elements, so there's that.  
ANYWAYS I was doodling dragons the other day and decided Gide was a plague imperial, but then was wondering how a plague dragon would have the same sort of future-seeing abilities as a water dragon. SO. That's this fic. For those unfamiliar with FR lore, the Tidelord is 1) the water god 2) currently missing 3) able to see into the future, and release prophecies in bubbles that supposedly can either allow dragons to see the future, or drive them mad.

Gide fought against the winds of the storm, struggling to stay aloft as rain and sleet stung against his wings, and icy spray from the sea below was flung skyward from the waves. Between the raging storm above, and the fathomless depths of the wild sea below, he wasn’t sure which would be a worse doom. There was also always the option of being struck down by one of the other dragons braving such weather to fight.

Gide was neither of the lightning flight, nor the water flight, and so late in the battle, he wasn’t sure either side would care if they struck him down, and he fought indiscriminately as well, the only dragons he would not kill being the members of his clan, who flew behind him. 

Lightning flashed in the clouds, illuminating their roiling grey bellies for a moment, and highlighting the silhouettes of the fighting dragons within, followed instantly by the bone-shaking clap of thunder. He could be struck by lightning, the electricity frying him instantly to send his body tumbling into the waves below, to sink and sink until he somewhere settled in the domain of the Tidelord. No, that would not do. That was not a death befitting of the leader of Mimic. Despite the ache in his chest and wings from battling the winds, Gide pushed forewards, towards the closest dragons he’d seen in the last flash of lightning. 

Lightning flashed again, and this time, Gide saw something else in the clouds, just for an instant, but an enormous shape seemed to loom within the storm. The following thunder seemed more like a roar, and Gide thought he felt his teeth rattle in his skull at the sound. 

_Thunder is the voice of the Stormcatcher, they say,_ he thought, and suddenly the clouds seem to be lit with a hundred lightning strikes at once, thunder booming louder than ever, and the impossibly large shape twisted in the clouds.

The sea below broke into a boil, and began to glow.

Gide’s wings locked, and dragons fell, burning even in the storm, around him, struck by the lightning. He smelled the molten metal of their armor, the burning of their flesh and scales. 

It was the end of the battle, the storm had reached it’s peak, and the victor would be decided in moments. Would Gide live to see it, or even to speak of it in cycles to come?  
Lightning struck the towering waves of the sea, hissing and vaporizing the water, all while thunder rolled, continuous. 

A Guardian with it’s armor melted and fused to it’s body where lightning had struck it, collided with Gide, knocking him down towards the waves. He roared, but there was no way anyone would be able to hear him over the thunder. 

The boiling sea swallowed him, and under the waves, brilliant bubbles rose to the surface from miles below, where yet another impossibly massive shape moved. Dead and dying dragons sank around him. Gide thrashed free of his armor, which was beginning to pull him down as well, and struggled towards the surface of the waves, lit by both the strikes of lightning and the glowing bubbles. His chest burned now, not from the strain of battling the wind, but from the lack of air. 

He was going to drown, after all.

Just when he was about to open his mouth and let the sea claim him, one of the glowing bubbles collided with his snout, and he inhaled it. Or rather, swallowed it, as if it were some tangible thing. 

It flooded down his throat and sat heavy and intact in his chest, and Gide rose with it to the surface, gasping for air before a wave broke over his head. He filled his lungs, and struggled into the air, roaring for his clanmates. 

Then, he could see the lightning bolt before it hit him. The bubble he swallowed rising in his throat, and, in a vision of half a dozen heartbeats, felt the lightning strike him, and when the bubble retreated, Gide folded his wings and dove out of the lightning’s path.

A prophecy. He had swallowed a prophecy from the Tidelord, that was what all the bubbles had been. They were supposed to drive a dragon mad, but instead, he saw his death, or his possible deaths, moments before they happened.

He was saved.


	9. Ridgeback Wings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IDK man, half of these shorts just pop into my head and who am I to deny them existance?

Yosano knew she drew stares. Dragons parted around her like a stream, their eyes following her path down the street as she walked. She could have flown, and avoided being down amongst the eyes.

But she found she liked it.

Down on the streets, if others scoffed or sneered, or told her she should cover her wings the way a proper lady would, she’d throw her wings wide, raise her head even higher, lash her tail and puff out her chest. She’d look down her snout at the little dragon and let the sun glint off the wicked spikes on her wings, on the spines that ran down her neck and back and tail, tap her claws on the sidewalk. Ask them behind rows of teeth sharp enough to tear through scales if they should be questioning her of all people. She’d let her body swell with magic, until it could be felt in the air around her.

No. 

Nobody would be telling Yosano what to do. How she should dress, how she should bear herself. She followed the orders of Fukuzawa because she respected him. Because he respected her. 

Fukuzawa was a traditional dragon, and even if at first he cringed at the sight of her wings out and on display at all times, he never made her cover them.   
She’d offer a spread of reasons as to why she kept her wings out. She’d tease Kunikida and Dazai and say she loved how risque it was to expose herself so. Or offer to the Tanizaki’s that it was too much of a hassle to keep the spikes of her wings filed down so that they wouldn’t tear through her shirt anyways. She told Atsushi and Kenji that her wings were simply too large to fit under conventional clothes, and she didn’t like to wear coats, it was too difficult to find ones that would accommodate her spines, so the best way was simply to keep her wings out. 

But it was all for the control of it. Nobody would see her as a demure little thing, or worse, a tool. If she was seen as rude or obscene, that she could deal with. 

It was preferable.


	10. First Fours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> stripes is a really common, and also rather old gene on flight rising. It's kinda plain looking so not a lot of people use it for dragons except exalt fodder so that's the background for that, for you non FR players out there.

Dazai didn’t let Chuuya watch him change, made the Mirror turn his back while he took fours. 

“Can I turn around now?” Chuuya asked, bored. He’d been stretching out his wings after having them trapped under the layers of his clothes in twos for so long. They’d have to do a lot of flying, and while Chuuya wasn’t one to turn up his nose at a short flight, Mirrors generally weren’t built for distance flying. They were better runners. “I wanna see what secondary you’ve been hiding under that coat of yours.”

“No, you can’t turn around yet,” Dazai said, his patience also clearly running as thin as Chuuya’s.

There was a soft laugh, one Chuuya recognized as Mori’s, and he almost turned around, before Dazai’s harsh shout stopped him.

“Don’t!”

Chuuya growled and dug his claws between the stones of the courtyard, and he heard soft footsteps as Mori stepped into his view.

“Clan Six Points has a strategic position near the Beacon of the Radiant Eye. Do try and not kill each other on your way there” the Bogsneak said, his smile oily. “And don’t draw too much attention to yourselves.”

Chuuya huffed and dug his claws deeper between the stones, but held his tongue. Koyou would have been the obvious representative to send: a pearlcatcher of the light flight, elegant and diplomatic. Not a mirror and a skydancer of foreign origins. 

Mori leaned closer, his limp fins twitching slightly, in the terrible way they always seemed to when he had found something that sparked his vile interest.

“They are hiding something. Something only you two can sniff out.”

“Maybe use those extra eyes of yours for once!”

Chuuya whirled at the sound of Dazai’s voice, damn him if he wasn’t ready yet, and saw the Skydancer smiling smugly at him. His neck and chest were bandaged, hiding them almost entirely, as were his forearms and the left side of his face. Damn. Even in fours Dazai was hiding a good portion of his body from view. He lifted his wings, showing off their impressive span and the dusty brown feathers almost solid in color. Under the feathers, the long delicate bones of the webbed lower half curled slightly, flexing. 

Chuuya couldn’t help but snort.

“Stripes? You’re so much more plain than I thought you’d be.”


	11. Wavecrest Saturnalia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oda spends the holidays looking forward

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> quick FR lore rundown: dragons of the water flight are seers and oracles. Oda is a water dragon, and sees the future, typically in the same way as canon.   
the Wavecrest Saturnalia is the water flight's holiday, and takes place during april but whatever. whatever. i've had this idea rattling around in my head for ages.

“Odasaku!”

A blue echo rang in his ears, and he felt the ghost of a lanky skydancer crash into his back.

_ Move, _ the vision told him, but Oda let Dazai careen madly against his back, calling out.

“Hello, Dazai,” Oda said, turning once he was released from Dazai’s arms.

“The Wavecrest Saturnalia starts tomorrow! Are you excited? Are there any super-secret water flight traditions you could let me n Ango in on, huh?” Dazai said, his one unbandaged eye wide and excited. Oda hadn’t seen Dazai this excited about anything in… well, ever. 

He thought for a moment.

“Well. There’s… one, but it’s rather boring,” Oda said, finally. “It’s more of a tradition for water dragons. I don’t think you’d get anything out of it.”

“What is it?”

Oda sighed.

“Well… supposedly, due to the heightened magical energies during the week, it is the best time to seek out possible futures, and most water dragons take the time to do so. I’ve never done it.”

“Well, then you should! It is the water flight’s festival, after all!” 

Oda gave Dazai a skeptical look.

“Will you be as insistent with Ango following the light flight’s traditions at Brighshine?” Oda teased dryly.

“Naturally. But looking into the future is much more exciting than any boring light flight traditions. I know most of _ those _ already,” Dazai said. “Do you have to be alone, while you’re _ seeing _?”

Oda shrugged.

“I’m not sure why I’d have to be, but I think I should be.”

“I could help!”

That was doubtful.

“It won’t be interesting to you.”

“It will, because it’s you, Odasaku, and you’re always interesting,” Dazai insisted. “Ango’ll be busy, and I don’t want to celebrate alone.”

“It won’t be all week.”

And that was how, the next evening, Oda found himself filling the bathtub of his apartment, and dumping in copious amounts of salt into the water. He wasn’t exactly sure how much salt, just that he’d know when it was enough. Enough so that it felt like the sea. 

He turned off the water and stood up, staring at the now still water. Was he supposed to say something? Oda had never been a particularly devout dragon. He didn’t know any of the prayers to the Tidelord. He rarely visited the various temples and shrines around the city. All the statues of the gods creeped him out, like they could see into his soul, and judged him unworthy of walking on the blessed grounds of their sanctuary. 

As he turned the lights off, and stepped into the salty tub, he felt as if he should say _ something _, but nothing particularly poignant came to mind. So, he simply sat down, and leaned back against the tiled edge of the tub. He listened to the water lapping at his scales as it stilled, and let his eyes fall closed.

Images suddenly flared to life in his mind, in brilliant sapphire, the same blue hues all of his visions came in. It was dizzying, and he sat upright, startled into opening his eyes. The water sloshed and splashed, and Oda was suddenly very glad he hadn’t allowed Dazai’s presence for this.

He waited for his breath to steady, and for the water to calm again before he sat back again, closing his eyes.

This time, when the visions started, he was ready for it, and let the torrent of images surge through his mind. It was a lot to take in, and it was hard to focus on all of the different spiraling and branching possibilities, but suddenly, his mind seized on one.

_ Salty-smelling wind rippled a field of blue-tinged grass, carrying the sound of laughing hatchlings. Oda walked through the grass, towards the cliff, where Dazai was sprawled, in fours. _

_ He looked… older, more relaxed. And most notably, he lacked almost all of his characteristic bandages. When the skydancer turned to face Oda, lifting his head, Oda noticed that he was missing an eye, the one that was usually hidden under bandages anyways. Still, he smiled and climbed to his feet. _

_ Sakura ran across the same field of grass, into the wind, beating her wings frantically while Ango fretted beside Oda. When suddenly she lifted into the sky, Oda felt his own heart soar, and he cheered along with the others, and Sakura laughed and laughed as she climbed higher and higher into the clear blue sky. _

_ Fireworks, in varying shades of blue, purple, and green exploded across the night sky, and were reflected on the sea below. His charges leaned against him, tucked carefully under the large span of his wings. _

He wanted that future. He wanted it so badly he could taste it, the fresh sea air, the tall, windswept grass, the cozy lair he would share with Ango and Dazai and the orphan hatchlings, the ones he’d already taken in and the ones he would in the future. He could _ see _ the path to reach it, and it was hard-

_ Dazai, covered in blood, shrieking as his claws dug into the face of a grey Imperial, who roared. Both were screaming for Oda to Shoot… _

And suddenly he was careening off down a different path.

_ Mori, grinning like a snake, one hand on a stunned Dazai’s shoulders. _

_ Two young faes, black and red, one gravely injured, and the other pinned under Dazai’s ruthless claws. _

On that path, there was a life for him outside of the Mafia, but he killed again, just once more.

In every future, it seemed, there was a grey Imperial, and he and Oda fought. In many, only one of them survived. In far more, neither of them did. 

Sometimes it was Ango there with him, remorseful and kneeling by his side as he died. Sometimes it was Dazai, panicked and begging for him to live. Sometimes he was dragged out of the ballroom by them both, which he sometimes survived, but other times died on the way to a doctor.

The grey Imperial was a crossroads. An inevitability. No matter what path he traveled, the grey Imperial would be there, and they would have to fight. And the only way to avoid killing again would be to die by the grey Imperial’s hand, because there was no future where they both survived.

Oda wandered, down blue-washed pathways, forgetting and remembering what he saw, but always returning to the one path that lead to the lair by the sea. He lingered, looking through the eyes of his future self, watching the hatchlings grow and learn to fly, before opening his eyes and returning to the present.

He’d have to fight the grey Imperial someday, but… for now, he had to drain the tub and rinse the salt from the tiles. It was morning now, but after spending the night wandering the future, Oda felt too exhausted to face anyone yet. He could think and plan more on what he had seen after a good rest and maybe a cup of coffee.


	12. Afternoon Sunset

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dazai takes a nap

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> quick lore things, again hgdkgh  
Skydancers typically have these long feather antennae thingies that helps them sense the emotions of other dragons. High empathy magic n stuff. Dazai kinda,,, doesn't have his anymore.

Dazai didn’t like sleeping in places other than his own room, safe in his lair. But he hadn’t slept in Lightweaver knew how long, and had collapsed onto one of the couches in the agency, and had almost immediately fallen asleep, before his usual anxieties overwhelmed him. 

“...Dazai, you’re burning up!”

There was somebody’s hand on his forehead, over the cropped remains of antenna, and the little protruding gemlike growth they attached to. 

_ A Guardian. _

He could tell. He mostly  _ felt _ things by reading people visually, but whenever another dragon touched the gem, or the remains of his antenna, then he could  _ feel _ on the way only a Skydancer could.

And he could  _ feel _ so much, too much, from this Guardian. Worry and care and stress and so many other things that made his mind too full, especially after just waking.

Squinting against the afternoon sun, which turned the Guardian looming over him into a dark silhouette, Dazai lifted his head sleepily.

“Odasaku?”

There was only one Guardian who  _ cared _ for him like that.

“Who’s Odasaku?”

But as he blinked, and his eyes adjusted to the light, despite the embarrassing gathering of tears, he saw golden scales, not rust red.

“Oh,” Dazai laughed, and sat up, pushing Kunikida’s hand from his forehead, severing the connecting between them that had begun pouring confusion and even more worry into his thoughts. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to drift off like that.”

Kunikida glared at him, but it didn’t hold his usual ire.

“You’re sick. Why did you come in if you knew you were unwell?”

“I’m never not unwell,” Dazai said, stretching. His wings twitched under his coat, as if they wanted to stretch too, straining slightly against the bandages that kept them bound loosely to his back. “And I would appreciate it if you didn’t touch me like that again.”

“Touch you like- oh. I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?”

“No. Not this time,” Dazai said softly. 

“Well. I will make a note of it,” Kunikida said, in that reserved yet chipper tone he always had when speaking of his  _ Ideal _ . “Do… not touch… Dazai’s face…”

He muttered to himself while writing, and Dazai tipped his head, squinting, trying to make the light from the windows turn Kunikida into a silhouette again. But in the short time it had taken for Dazai to fully awaken, the sun must have changed it’s position, because no matter how Dazai tipped his head, the light always seemed to reflect off Kunikida’s glasses in a way that made the Guardian unmistakably himself.


	13. Hatchling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Dazai Comes From, and who he was before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally got a Dazai fandragon on FR so I decided to write up a little pre-port mafia backstory for him. TW for Mori being a little creepy at the end, and brief mentions of suicide attempts.

"A lucky one."

  
"May the Earthshaker- Flood!"

  
The hatchling stretched and blindly tipped onto the hardpacked dirt of the bottom of the nest. It could sense swirling disapproval, guilt, grief, feelings that it couldn't possibly know the names for yet, but flooded it's tiny body. It was too much, and the hatchling opened it's tiny beak with a distressed peep. 

  
"You've ruined the blessing! May the Earthshaker bless you with a long memory, and an honorable life, may your limbs be strong as stone, your-"

  
"Bless its wings. Make it fast to escape any danger it may befall."

"Flood!"

  
"It's mine too."

  
The hatchling struggled upright, limbs shaking and new, and followed the tide of feelings. It felt the stirrings of it's siblings, waking from their egg-sleep, pushing against pebbled shells. 

  
"Why won't it's eyes open?"

  
"They won't for a day or so."

  
More disgust, but this time, the hatchling felt claws close around it's middle, and lift him against a feathery chest. 

  
"Skydancer hatchlings can run before they can see. They use their magic to follow their parents. See? It came right over."

  
The hatchling was hungry. Or perhaps that was the hunger of it's siblings as they pushed free and into the cold desert night.

  
The hatchling's mother was like him. Long and delicate, with limbs like dry grass, dusty feathers, and a long, slender beak. The hatchling's father was like his sister, large and stocky, with solid scales and thick, strong limbs. His father called the hatchling "accident prone", his mother called his sisters "too rowdy". The hatchling didn't call himself anything. Since his eyes opened, it was like he never wanted to close them, though there was never anything to look at. He galloped around the small valley the day he gained sight, taking in the plump cacti, dry creek bed, looming mountains, and hard, dusty ground. His sisters hurried to stumble after him, less steady on their stumpy legs. When his sisters tussled and tried to pull him into the squabble, his wing broke. 

  
The hatchling cried, because it hurt, but his father growled at him until he stopped. Wouldn't brace the injured limb until he stopped whimpering. The hatchling didn't play-fight with his sisters again. When they tried again, he scratched one of his sisters with claws he'd spent the morning sharpening on the boulders littering the valley. They didn't ask him to play fight again, but seemed to take every opportunity to bump into him, knock him down, or step on his tail.   
Always hungry, they grew faster and larger than the hatchling.

  
But when other dragons with the same bright-gold eyes as the hatchling's mother arrived, it was not his sisters they took. 

  
The three hatchlings crouched on the roof, under a temporary truce, while the dragons argued inside.

  
"-not even old enough yet!"

  
"I'm not going back. I won't."

  
"The Skydancer has the proper coloring. It's genes are... plain, but with it's matching eyes, no doubt finding it a mate will be no problem. It could even come back to nest occasionally."

  
"My son-"

  
"Oh, so now he's your son?"

  
"It- he won't be mistreated. Our clan has some of the most prominent scholars in the Sunbeam Ruins. And you'll be compensated."

"If my son is to serve any of the 11, it will be the Earthshaker!"

  
Light flashed out of the window, and there was a deep howl of pain.

  
And so, the hatchling was bundled into a basket by the golden dragons, his parents eerily silent, watching as he was carried off and the valley he hatched in shrunk away.  
The hatchling was dumped out onto a floor of smooth stone after two days of continuous flight. The dragons around him were different, small and standing up on their hind legs. He stood up and tried to copy them, wobbling unsteadily. The dragons who were waiting laughed.

  
"You're still in fours. Dust-eater."

  
Dust eater. That was what they called him. It took Dust eater a few tries to get his body to shift to Twos, his wings shrinking, spine bending. They dressed him in a crisp white shirt and loose pants. The other hatchlings thought he was funny, the way he talked and how he looked. Dust eater was introduced to another feathery hatchling, but she was different from him. Though her feathers were a similar brown, they shimmered with stars, and she had a short, snakelike face, and small, stubby limbs. 

  
"Arbor is going to be your mate, someday," the golden dragons said. Dust eater didn't like Arbor. She was stupid, and only ever seemed to feel soft and floaty indistinct feelings. She toddled along after him, and even when the tutors tried to teach her letters, Dust eater could tell she couldn't understand what they were saying. She hummed and chirped, scribbling different characters down on the parchment given to her, presenting the nonsense proudly.

  
"Coatls take longer to mature," One pearlcatcher hatchling said. "They don't speak draconic, she's not stupid. You're stupid."

  
"I'm not stupid," Dust eater said. "You can't read real books yet."

  
"We're not allowed to read real books yet," the pearlcatcher snapped.

  
Dust eater could read real books. He snuck into the library, dim and claustrophobic, and picked books at random. Arbor usually followed, humming quietly to herself, or perhaps to him. There was no staying away from her.

  
It wasn't until he picked up a book which explained the process in which dragons procreated that Dust eater's future sunk in. He was going to have to spend the rest of his life with Arbor, and she would lay his eggs. They would have hatchlings with gold-bright eyes and dirt brown feathers, sometimes as soft and snakelike as their mother, but more often they would be as gangly and birdlike as their father. 

  
Dust eater was ten when he first tried to run away. He was 12 when he first tried to take his life. Arbor, finally having managed to grasp draconic, had cried and cried.  
"You can't leave me," she said, clinging to Dust eater. "They'll sell me if you leave."

  
Dust eater hated Arbor.

  
Everything made her cry. It made Dust eater miss how rough his sisters had been, though his memory of them was now blurry. Had Arbor been a more upstanding dragon, if she didn't do nothing but hum pleasantly until something upset her, at which she would cry until someone consoled her, then perhaps Dust eater wouldn't have hated Arbor so much. If he didn't know that as soon as Arbor was able to lay eggs, that they'd be bound together until their death, he wouldn't have hated her so much.

  
Finally, Dust eater's ticket to freedom arrived. A terrible, slinking bogsneak with too many arms and dark, drooping fins, flanked by two of the largest, spikeyest dragons Dust eater had ever seen, and a greying pearlcatcher. The golden dragon in charge of the hatchlings hurried to line them up, and spent a considerable amount of time going over the capabilities of some of the eldest hatchlings, how smart and strong they were, how with a bit of training, they would be excellent warriors. The greying pearlcatcher nodded and considered them, but the bogsneak's eyes slid down the line, and lingered on the hatchlings younger even than Dust eater. It made his feathers stand on end.

  
But the pearlcatcher took one of the elder hatchlings. Perhaps the bogsneak would take him.

  
That night, Dust eater slipped out of bed, careful not to wake Arbor. He picked the lock on the door that kept the hatchlings in at night, and snuck out into the main hallways of the clan. Luck was on his side, and he ran into the bogsneak almost immediately.

  
"I thought they had a little bird like you locked up," the bogsneak said, and Dust eater suppressed a shiver. 

  
"Your associate is taking Sunbeam. You should take me." 

  
The bogsneak's fins twitched with amusement.

  
"Hirotsu is taking Sunbeam back to the boss. You were not up to be offered on. I was told you are part of a... project."

  
"I'll do anything, just get me out of here. I'd rather die."

  
"Anything? I suppose you wouldn't mind bringing your intended with you, then."

  
"I hate Arbor. And she hates me. She wouldn't come with me even if I begged."

  
"Alright then. What do you know about medicine, little bird?"

  
"I've read books about it."

  
"I'm in need of an assistant. I suppose you will do nicely. What's your name?"

  
Dust eater hesitated. 

  
"Dazai," he said, picking the name from one of the books he'd read. "My name is Dazai."


	15. Rockbreaker's Ceremony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dazai and his own flight Holiday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was initially written for rarepair week with the theme "longing/keepsake", which i think fits the Earth Flight's schtick about memory. But I chickened out and never posted it. But now that it's ACTUALLY Rockbreaker's, I feel like its appropriate to post.

Dazai had been dreading Rockbreaker's Ceremony. In the past, it was always one of those times he either asked for time off, or simply vanished, not caring if it used up his sick days. As a dragon of the earth flight, the President typically did let him have time off during Rockbreaker's if he asked, assuming he was asking for traditional or religious reasons.

Dazai was never a particularly religious dragon, he simply disliked what Rockbreaker's was meant to represent for his flight.

Unfortunately, a particularly important case and a particularly insistent Kunikida dragged him into work by the tail on the second day of Rockbreakers. Dazai hadn’t asked for the time off, and so Kunikida, in all his stubborn glory, marched right in, grabbed Dazai by the tail feathers, and dragged him to work, despite Dazai’s numerous protests. 

“I didn’t think you were going to be here! It’s the earth flight’s holiday, isn’t it?” Kenji asked, far too cheerfully for Dazai’s liking, but he humored the younger dragon.

“Yes. It is Rockbreaker's Ceremony this week. Really, we should write Kunikida up for dragging me in to work on a  _ holiday _ for my flight! I have… traditions to observe!” Dazai said, summoning up a mock-indignant attitude. Unfortunately, such teasing tended to go over Kenji’s head in the best of times, and his eyes widened and lit up.

“Really? What kind of traditions?”

Dazai was taken aback and suddenly felt a strange sense of deja-vu. Had Oda felt this way when Dazai had pressed him about his traditions during Wavecrest? Dazai could feel Kenji’s curiosity and excitement, it was radiating off of him in waves that even his cropped antennae could pick up. Kenji tended to be like that anyways and it was always slightly overwhelming.

“Well,” Dazai began, echoing what he remembered Oda had said. “There’s one-”

“Oh yes, I’m well aware of it,” Kunikida said, butting in. 

Now he  _ really _ felt as if the floor had dropped out from under him. He had never been the most observant follower of the Earthshaker, eldest of the eleven, but every once and a while he would drop by and thank the Earthshaker in his own way. Surely, his memory had to be a gift, and it was one that Dazai was thankful for. But for  _ Kunikida _ to be spouting earth flight traditions made Dazai’s feathers itch.

“There’s one tradition that is particularly well known, mostly as it was frequently taught in schools. It may have just been an excuse to get us to learn new artistic mediums, but I did look into it, and it seems to be a long-honored tradition of the earth fight. Naturally, the school did bastardize it somewhat, but I found a text on the proper tradition a few years back.”

Dazai forced himself to keep his expression pleasant as Kunikida continued.

“As the earth flight is one for long memories and remembering the dead, it is often traditional to create a small statuette from clay of a dragon who has passed on, in order to preserve their memory. The statuette is kept for the duration of the holiday, and is often treated as a guest or family member, offered food, and told stories of the year. Members of the clan often share stories of the departed to their fellow clanmates as well, to remember them by. There are some earth clans who tell stories and create statuettes of dragons they or even their parents never knew, but whose image, stories, and name were passed down through their family each Rockbreakers. It is truly a beautiful tradition, in my opinion,” Kunikida said.

Of course. 

Dazai had never actually participated in this tradition, not in cycles. He had vague, fuzzy hatchling memories of his parents telling him stories, of being forced to sit before the traditional arching form of a cracking clay statue of a skydancer. 

He remembered snapping it’s head off, and he remembered his father threatening to do the same to him. 

“You know, Kunikida, there are other traditions as well! Such as the one that the holiday gets it’s name from! Surely, that one would be far more fun! See, all you need to do is gather a few boulders of suitable size-”

“You’re not pulling a fast one on me again, Dazai,” Kunikida snapped.

“I think the sculpture one sounds amazing!” Kenji said. “Dazai, do you know any stories?”

“I was taken from my clan before I was told any good ones,” Dazai said, forcing himself to continue smiling.

Of course, everyone else in the agency was  _ enamored _ with the tradition Kunikida told them about, no matter how much Dazai presses the other ones he can remember. His time in the mafia and lack of  _ good _ memories of his hatchlinghood meant that he didn’t have anything better to offer.

It didn’t help that Kunikida thought he was lying every time Dazai proposed an alternative, which kind of hurt. 

“You would think that Kunikida would respect my knowledge of my own flight!” Dazai griped, although he still managed to sound too cheerful about it for anyone to think he was truly bothered.

He didn’t want them to worry.

Being an earth dragon, Dazai was a naturally gifted sculptor, and because there's nobody  _ else _ who deserves to be honored for the week, he made a small clay statuette of Oda. He didn't do it in the traditional style, which would call for sculpting the dragon in Fours, and depicting a guardian with their charge. Not to mention the fact that even if Dazai was naturally talented, he simply didn’t know  _ how _ to get the statuette to look the same way the ones he had seen in his hatchlinghood. The stylized, delicate figures, posed in ways a true dragon probably wasn’t able to position themself in.

Instead, he made the statuette as if Oda were sitting at the bar with him and Ango, or sitting at the counter of his favorite curry shop. Relaxed, claws on the "table", eyes vacant as if lost in thought

"I didn't think you would actually create one," Kunikida said, sitting down beside Dazai, who was staring at the small statuette of a dragon that sat in front of him. "I knew you wouldn't follow the traditional style. Who is he?"

Dazai nearly reached out and smashed his creation right then.

"Ah, nobody. I simply created your average, everyday dragon! I killed enough of them in the past, you know! I should honor their memory, now that I am on the side of good!" Dazai said, as lightly as he could manage.

Kunikida clearly didn't buy it, carefully lifting the dried clay figure into his hands.

Dazai could taste the questions on Kunikida's tongue, but they weren't voiced. Instead, Kunikida set the figure down again, carefully.

"It's well made. I'm sure whoever it is meant to represent was important to you."

Dazai leaves the statuette sitting on top of Oda's grave, he couldn't bear to bring it back to his rooms. But he did follow the tradition. He poured a glass of whisky for his dead friend, and left it sitting there beside the statuette, before sitting down, back against the gravestone. And then he spoke. 

He knew that when Ango would come to visit Oda's grave, he'd find nothing but an empty glass and a pile of disintegrated clay, but Ango's ability and Ango himself were too sharp to know that these mean nothing.

He'd know that Dazai was there, as he always knows when Dazai visits the grave.

But for once, it's not an uncomfortable feeling. Dazai imagined that when Ango uses his ability to look into the past, to see him sitting there, against the grave of their friend, that Ango, too, will have brought himself a drink, and it will, in some twisted way, be like old times again.


End file.
